The 11:47 PM train to the city’s outskirts was always late. Not by minutes, but by hours—sometimes days. Most people didn’t ride it, and those who did never spoke of where they went or what they saw. The station itself was a relic, its flickering lights casting long shadows over cracked tiles and rusted metal. A single bench sat in the center, worn smooth by decades of use, though no one ever seemed to sit on it. Lena had been working late at the library when she noticed the time. It was 11:38, and the last bus had left an hour ago. She hesitated, then stepped onto the platform. The air smelled of damp concrete and old paper, and the silence was thick, as if the station itself were holding its breath. The train arrived just after midnight, its doors sliding open with a groan that echoed down the empty corridor. Lena hesitated, then climbed aboard. The car was empty except for a man in a dark suit, seated near the back, his face obscured by the dim light. He didn’t look up as she passed, but she felt his gaze follow her. The train moved slowly, its wheels clattering against the tracks like a heartbeat. Lena glanced out the window, but there was nothing beyond the tunnel walls. No city lights, no signs of civilization. Just endless darkness. She checked her phone, but the screen was blank, no signal, no time. The clock on the wall read 12:05 AM, but she hadn’t even been on the train for ten minutes. At the next stop, the doors opened again. This time, the platform was different. The same bench sat there, but the tiles were clean, the lights brighter. A woman stood beside it, wearing a red coat that shimmered like liquid fire. She smiled as Lena approached, but there was something wrong with her eyes—too large, too reflective, like polished glass. “You’re late,” the woman said, her voice soft, almost melodic. “We’ve been waiting for you.” Lena’s throat tightened. “I don’t know what you mean.” The woman tilted her head. “You don’t remember? You came here once before. Last year. You didn’t stay long. But you were here.” Lena’s mind raced. She had never taken this train. She had never seen this station. And yet, the words felt familiar, as if they had been spoken to her in a dream she couldn’t quite recall. The woman reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small, silver key. “This will open the door,” she said, placing it in Lena’s hand. “But only if you believe it’s real.” Lena looked down at the key. It was cold, heavier than it should be. “Where does it lead?” “To where you belong,” the woman replied. “Or maybe where you forgot.” Before Lena could ask more, the train doors closed with a final, metallic clang. The woman vanished as if she had never been there. The train lurched forward, and the tunnel lights began to blur into streaks of color. Lena held the key tightly, her fingers trembling. She thought of the library, the books she had read, the stories of forgotten places and lost people. She had always dismissed them as fiction. But now, standing in the heart of a train that shouldn’t exist, she wasn’t so sure. The next stop came without warning. The doors opened, revealing a platform that was not like the others. The walls were lined with clocks, each one frozen at a different time. Some showed 12:00, others 3:17, 6:49, 9:03. A single door stood at the far end, its handle rusted and worn. Lena took a step forward. The key fit perfectly into the lock. As she turned it, the door creaked open, revealing a room filled with shadows and whispers. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and memory. Inside, there were chairs, desks, and books stacked high on shelves. But none of them were labeled. They were all blank, their pages untouched. At the center of the room stood a mirror, its surface rippling like water. Lena approached it, and in the reflection, she saw herself—but not as she was now. She was younger, smiling, holding a book. The image faded, replaced by another: her standing in the library, looking at a book titled “The Train That Never Ends.” Then, a third image: her walking away from the station, the train disappearing behind her. She turned around, expecting to see the woman in red, but the room was empty. Only the whispering voices remained, echoing in her mind. As she stepped back, the door slammed shut behind her. The key fell from her hand, and the moment it hit the floor, the entire room dissolved into darkness. When Lena opened her eyes, she was back on the platform, the 11:47 PM train gone. Her phone was still dead, but the time read 11:47 PM. She looked down at her hand, expecting to see the key, but it was gone. She walked away from the station, her thoughts tangled in questions she couldn’t answer. Had it all been a dream? Or had she simply stepped into a place that existed between moments, a space where time didn’t flow the way it should? And if she had, what else was waiting for her in the dark?